Daughter of Beorn: The Hobbit Fanfiction

Friendliness in The Shire

Bilbo squirmed awkwardly and glared at Oin. "Uh, what beast?" He stammered.

Bofur snickered at his question with a mischievous expression. "Well that would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age. Airborne fire-breather, teeth like razors, claws like meathooks, extremely fond of precious metals--"

"Yes, I know what a dragon is."

A dragon? Are you kidding me? Shaking my head, I paced out of Bilbo's home and sat on the front steps. Gandalf was insane if he thought I was going along with this. Hell, I was a skin-changer.

I didn't belong anywhere, especially with thirteen revenge-crazed dwarves. I mean, sure, I didn't think my life was valuable- but I wasn't about to lose it fighting a dragon!

I then pulled out my pipe and examined it closely. Gandalf told me it was carved by my father. To be honest, it wasn't too hard to come to that conclusion, because it was in the shape of a bear. I smoked it once or twice, just to get the feeling of home.

Then again, it's not like I ever had a true home, besides the refuge I had received from a family friend. Typical girl deprived of a family life. I had such a pathetically wonderful sob story....

I clenched my fists and held back the urge to switch into my other form. Control yourself. My mind argued. You don't want another accident. Not like the one back at Bree.

~ Flashback ~

"Another drink?" The man asked. I shook my head, avoiding eye contact. Shrugging his shoulders, he waltzed over to a slumped figure on a nearby stool. The smell of mead and the Valar knew what else contaminated the air, coating everything in a sickly layer of alcoholic drowsiness.

I had never gone to the Prancing Pony that often, and the few times I did go was when I needed to forget a few particularly vivid memories. Mead was helpful in that regard.

"Oy- move over." A gruff man bellowed. I sat completely still, focusing in on the glass in front of me. My finger ran itself over the rim of the glass as I internally hoped this fool would just leave. "Did you not hear me, wench?" He repeated. The pungent scent of sweat and alcohol perfumed his body at an overpowering rate. How lovely.

"I heard you perfectly clear." I stated, carefully choosing my words. "There are plenty of other seats in the bar. Do me a favor and sit elsewhere."

Grabbing my wrist, the man yanked me off of the seat. This dim-witted buffoon did not know what he was getting into. "There!" He exclaimed, obviously proud of himself. What he evidently did not notice were the claws that were growing where my fingernails once were.

A low growl rose up from the bottom of my throat, and all that my inner animal allowed me to say was: "I warned you, bastard." The man yelled in surprise when my right hand shot up and firmly wrapped itself around his neck. I dug my claws into his flesh, calmly watching as he screamed and his fresh blood spilled onto my fingers.

The cries of terror and disgust from the other tavern members were mere whispers as I casually flung the man's body onto a table. He crashed into several glass mugs, as well as a few unsuspecting guests. Everyone was too scared to intervene as I nonchalantly approached him and unsheathed one of my spare daggers. "The problem with men like you," I chuckled, pulling back my hood and meeting his gaze with utter disgust, "is that you don't know how to take the word 'no'."

I saw the man's eyes widen in fear as I gave him a smile, my normal teeth having turned into fangs. "When you go to the medic, tell them the monster sent you." With that, I lifted the dagger and slammed the blade directly into his crotch. The cry of pain that erupted from his lips was immensely satisfying.